


Snowburn

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [16]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Feelings, Idiots in Love, Intimacy, Literal Sleeping Together, Sickfic, soft idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “Dammit, Dune. You're too hot,” he sighs. He should have insisted she stayed on the ship, for this one.Despite the situation, Cara blearily smirks up at him, eyes glossy from the fever, and retorts, “Aren't I always?”Her voice is thick and hoarse, terribly fatigued, but her flirtatious tone cracks a smile from Din.“Of course. My bad.”He keeps smoothing Cara's hair along her head, mesmerised by her complete abandonment and the little noises his ministrations cause low in her throat.“You're forgiven,” she mutters with a content sigh that, Din is sure, is not meant to sound as erotic as it does, “just this once.”The fact that she's still in the spirit to joke around is a slight consolation: they've both been sicker than she is right now, but he never likes it when she's the one in pain. To be honest, he doesn't like it when he is the one in pain and she's the one who worries, but both cases have a perk: they get to be soft and physical around each other in ways that normally they couldn't allow themselves to be.[ Cara gets sick after a job. Din takes care of her. Softness ensues. ]
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709416
Comments: 19
Kudos: 143





	Snowburn

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm alive! I had a major block and couldn't get anything done for over a week, which was utter torture, but I think I'm back! Phew!

> _The feel of her head against his shoulder, of her familiar body, sent a shock of emotion over him. His arms holding her had a tendency to tighten around her. So he leaned back and began to talk..._
> 
> — F. Scott Fitzgerald

  
  


***

  
  


  
  


By the time they get back to the ship, the only one not covered in frost is the child, safely tucked into his pram, away from the snow and the impossibly low temperatures of Csilla. After this hunt, both Din and Cara have sworn they will never chase their targets to ice planets again.

As soon as the ramp hisses closed behind them, Din immediately throws their guy into carbonite, then switches the heating to maximum power and places the kid in the warmest corner of the room while he helps Cara out of her armour and clothes to wrap her up into as many blankets as he can find.

“You need to warm up, too,” she stutters stubbornly, even though she can barely stand on her feet, when Din pushes her back against her bunk and forces her to sit down.

He does feel cold to the bone but she's the one who's pale and shuddering.

He discards his frosted armour into a haphazard pile and leaves it to leak thawing ice on the floor under the child's curious supervision.

“You okay in there, kid?” he asks, touching a finger under the baby's chin. He gets a little chirp in return, which takes at least a pinch of worry off his conscience. He turns to his main concern, Cara, who in the meantime has slid down to lie on her mattress in a trembling tangle of blankets. Her hair is wet, sticking all over her face. Din sits down by her side and brushes every unruly lock away from her forehead and cheeks, realising in the process that she's not just wet because of the snow, but also in sweat. He touches her face, her neck, and his shoulders sag in guilt: she's _burning._

“Dammit, Dune. You're too hot,” he sighs. He should have insisted she stayed on the ship, for this one.

Despite the situation, Cara blearily smirks up at him, eyes glossy from the fever, and retorts, “Aren't I always?”

Her voice is thick and hoarse, terribly fatigued, but her flirtatious tone cracks a smile from Din.

“Of course. My bad.”

He keeps smoothing Cara's hair along her head, mesmerised by her complete abandonment and the little noises his ministrations cause low in her throat.

“You're forgiven,” she mutters with a content sigh that, Din is sure, is not meant to sound as erotic as it does, “just this once.”

The fact that she's still in the spirit to joke is a slight consolation: they've both been sicker than she is right now, but he never likes it when she's the one in pain. To be honest, he doesn't like it when _he_ is the one in pain and she's the one who worries, but both cases have a perk: they get to be soft and physical around each other in ways that normally they couldn't allow themselves to be.

Din fetches a towel, trying to dismiss inappropriate thoughts; while he's in the fresher, her takes off his damp garments and leaves them in the sink. He's in his underwear when he gets back to Cara and sits at her side again. The kid has fallen asleep.

He dabs the warm towel over Cara's face and hair, getting her as dry as possible; his own body is oozing cold from every pore but it's slowly passing, replaced by a growing heat rising all over his face and neck. Snowburn, Cara calls it.

Din thought she was asleep, but when he makes to stand and leave, her hand tightens around his wrist. Her eyes are still closed when, ever so feebly, she mutters, “Stay?”

The surge of warmth spreading throughout Din's body has nothing to do with snowburn or the increased temperature in the ship. He sits back before his mind even has the time to consider what she's asking. It's not like they haven't done this before, and yet, for some reason, he hesitates every time.

“Cara-” he begins, though he has no idea what he wants to say, but Cara just tugs him and moans against the back of his hand, “Keep me warm.”

It's an innocent request. He can do it: he can just be there for her and provide some comfort. He _can,_ but every time it gets a little harder to just hold her and ignore how this makes him feel. Maybe she feels it, too. Sometimes he thinks he can see it in her eyes, as well: the quiet, growing feeling that something is changing, and they like the way it's changing.

“Are you sure?” he asks uncertainly.

“Bloody sure. Come on, you idiot,” Cara still has her face pressed into his hand; she pulls again, “you'll worry about how scandalous this is when I'm not feeling like I'm freezing from the inside.”

“It could take days.”

She cracks an eye open to cast him a defiant look.

“You got anything better to do?”

This is the thing about Cara: she can make him laugh. No matter how dire or serious the situation, she has this talent – it's almost _magic_ – and he still hasn't got used to it: the sound of his own laugh still shocks him, catches him off guard, but it pleases Cara as much as it bewilders him and this always makes him happier than what made him laugh in the first place.

“I've got _a lot_ to do,” he retorts, which makes her scrunch her face into a whiny expression. Before she can protest, however, he's already adding, “As to better, that is debatable.”

He gets what he was aiming for: Cara's lips stretch into a grin as her eyes met his, full of mischief.

“See?” she purrs as she moves back to make room for him. “You can be a sensible guy.”

Din raises the several layers of blankets and slides under them next to Cara. She immediately huddles up against him, curling into his waiting arms like she's done countless times before. Din can't remember when they grew so intimate and so comfortable about it; looking back, he can't spot a time when it _wasn't_ like this: the very moment they helped each other up from the dirt on Sorgan, they both knew theirs was no ordinary encounter.

“If I were sensible,” he says, tucking Cara's head under his chin, “I'd be walking away from you by now.”

Cara very eloquently throws a leg over Din's. She's hot all over but her feet are frozen.

“Don't you dare,” she grumbles into his neck. He feels her shudder. “I'm serious, Din: it's like there's ice in my kriffing bones.”

“You just need to ride out the fever,” he says. “No riding quips, please,” he adds, anticipating her obvious response.

Predictably, Cara snorts.

“You're such a bore.” Her lips and her breath burn against Din's neck, her arm heavy upon his naked chest. “Such a wonderfully warm bore, though.”

Din smiles. He runs a hand up and down her arm and bends the other to cup his hand around the back of her head, his thumb massaging gently into her neck. He can feel her heartbeat against his own, a sound his whole body feels and recognises as if it was his own. She's soft when his hand ghosts down to her hip, but when it glides lower yet, and presses into her flesh, the softness merges into the taut strength of her thighs. As he holds her a little tighter, Cara instinctively moves her hand from his chest to his neck, absently stroking him just below his helmet. Her lips are pressing against his clavicle; when she smiles blissfully, it feels like she's kissing him.

“Feeling better?” he asks after a while.

She nods weakly.

“A little.”

She traces the tip of her thumb back and forth across his chin; it skims briefly over his lower lip and Din has to shut his eyes to take the sudden jump of his heart beneath his ribs. Cara must notice, because she hesitantly starts retracting her hand, but Din stops her, brings her fingers back to his lips to brush a feather kiss on them. It's a mistake, because it makes him realise this is not remotely enough. It is painfully _not_ enough.

He doesn't say anything. It's dark enough, and even if it wasn't, he wouldn't care. He trusts Cara, anyway. He grabs the hem of the helmet and takes it off, letting it fall to the floor with a dull thud. He's slightly sweaty but Cara doesn't seem to mind: as soon as the helmet is gone, her head snuggles back under his chin and her hand rises again, this time to spread over his bare cheek. There's this thing she does whenever he takes his helmet off in these rare moments in the dark: she takes her time to caress him, slowly, almost wistfully, and her touch burns more than ever, now.

“You didn't have to,” she whispers, her breath deceptively cool upon the sheen of perspiration covering Din's face. It makes him shiver. It makes him smile.

His cups her face into his hand and looks down at her through the darkness as he mutters, “I wanted to.”

He can see the faint glitter of her eyes, a glimpse of her own smile.

“You can't do that when I'm in this state,” she protests. “You just _can't.”_

“Do what?”

“Seduce me with your damn softness.”

He laughs, his fingers raking tenderly through her damp hair.

“I'm pretty sure I'm not the seductively soft one, here.”

Cara groans and he responds with light kiss on her forehead, and another one. She lets out a faint giggle that resonates beautifully within his chest.

“You're just proving my point.”

“You love being proved right,” he argues, his lips still pressed into her temple.

“Mmh, yeah,” she agrees in a purr. “Feels amazing.”

She's tracing circles over his pectorals with her fingertips. Her breathing is heavy, a chain of small, weary sighs, her cheek like fire against him. Din still finds it amazing that they can be this vulnerable with one another: if there is any such thing as _comfortable vulnerability,_ it's what he and Cara experience in moments like this, and they never took it for granted, not even once.

“It does,” he agrees. He pulls her a little closer, her breasts pressing softly into his side. From the carrier floating just a couple of feet away, the child is snoring loudly – open mouthed, by the sound of it – making both Din and Cara giggle under their breath.

They just lie there for a long while, just savouring each other's presence. Cara shivers from time to time, and each time Din tugs her a bit closer. His hand sneaks under her tank top, at some point; it splays all over the small of her back, stroking the tender skin along her spine.

Sometimes, when they're lying together like this, they end up touching each other so intimately it makes them both forget there is nothing beyond this – and if there is anything, it stays unspoken.

“We're a couple of old fools, aren't we?” says Cara out of the blue. She says it indulgently, with the lenient tone she would use to reprimand the child's antics.

“Sometimes,” concedes Din. “Most of the time, perhaps.”

He's running his hand through Cara's hair, something he often does unconsciously. He knows she loves it, and he finds it soothing as much as she does, even more so when she's sick and it helps her sleep. Not that she seems so eager to sleep, as of now.

She nuzzles her face in his shoulder, her nose tickling the sensitive spot just below his ear. She lays her hand on his breastbone and he automatically covers it with his own. There is a long list of gestures that come naturally, by now, and they can't remember picking up: how they cuddle up in one of their bunks and read the child to sleep; how they always seem to know where the other one got hurt before they even see it; how their hands seem to always seek each other in the most unexpected moments...

“Why do we always need an excuse to do this?” Cara moans with a long sigh. She's half lying on top of him, by now, their ankles tangled together, rubbing each other warm. “What is it about this that scares us so much?”

Din doesn't really know what to say: whatever it is between them, it's incredibly easy to do and inconceivably hard to talk about. So they simply never talk about it.

“I don't know. It's probably...”

He tries to analyse the general picture, the signals of what is truly going on between him and Cara, and the implications of it, and the answer is, in fact, fairly simple: all precious things are terrifying when you realise they could be taken from you.

“I guess it gives us something to lose,” he says in a low, brittle voice that surprises him more than it does Cara. “It's a weak spot that could be exploited against us.”

“We already have a weak spot,” says Cara, just as a particularly loud snore echoes in the room. She giggles into Din's chest. “A green, cute weak spot with giant fuzzy ears.”

It warms his heart just to hear that – _their_ weakness. His mind has been buzzing with thoughts, lately; thoughts involving the future and possible scenarios where this crazy life of theirs gets a little less crazy and little more ordinary, a life where they have normal things all families have and they can do things all families do. He doesn't even know if he's entitled to such thoughts, but then Cara's embrace tightens around him and once again he's reminded that everything he's feeling, she's feeling, too.

“What's one more weakness, then?” he wonders, and can perfectly picture the reaction this elicits from Cara: she's probably biting hep lip, grinning, perhaps, and blushing a little.

“Yeah, I mean,” she babbles, “would it really kill us to admit... you know.”

Din curls two fingers under her chin and makes her look up. They're shadows to each other in this dim light, but they can look into each other's eyes, even though all they can see is a faint shimmer.

His thumb wistfully strokes her chin for a second before he carefully leans forward and stops just shy of her lips.

“If we do,” he says, “if we admit that, where do we go from here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will we be just a couple of hunters with a baby or do we want more?”

Cara is staring at his mouth with a timid smile.

“You mean a family?”

“A family, a home... it's been a while since any of us had either of those.”

“That is not true: the three of us have had each other for over a year. That's both home and family.”

She cranes her neck, the tip of her nose nudging his in a silent question. She doesn't need to ask: he wants this, too. He's dying to have this, too. There is barely an inch between his lips and hers; it still feels like it takes an eternity to bridge this distance and finally kiss her.

It's almost funny how they've shared a bed so many times, nearly naked in each other's arms, and never once shared a kiss. There _have_ been kisses – on their cheeks, on the foreheads, on their hands – but they've never been brave enough to dare a real kiss, before. And it's good, and it's hauntingly beautiful... It feels like learning how to breathe all over again.

Cara shivers, a shiver more intense than those that have been shaking her so far, and the moan that spills from her mouth into Din's makes him grin into the kiss and kiss her deeper, and she grins too, and they almost laugh for how hungry and messy it's getting. It's embarrassing how natural it is, to think that they could have been doing this all along.

They try to break apart several times, failing as soon as their lips part and they fall into another kiss, each time hungrier and needier. Cara's skin is maddeningly hot as smooth under Din's palms, and he has to remind himself she's running a fever when his reason starts dimming under the fierce demands of his more feral instincts.

He gently pushes Cara back into the pillow, brushes her hair out of her face, kissing the line of her cheekbone, panting hard.

“The life we have now,” he breathes. “Is it all you've ever wanted for yourself?”

Cara curls a hand around his neck to keep his face close to hers. She's chuckling.

“Why do I have a feeling there's something very specific you want to hear?”

“We don't have to talk about it now,” he says. It's too soon, he reasons. He shouldn't push Cara, especially now that she's indisposed. How did they even get to this, anyway?

She draws him down to steal a quick kiss from him before replying, “Yeah, I'd like not to be feverish if we have to talk about settling down and children.”

Somehow, she knows even if he didn't say a word. How long has she known? Has she been thinking about this, too?

She responds to his stunned silence with a kiss on his cheek and a smug smirk as she lies back, arms locked around his neck.

“I know that soft heart of yours, Din Djarin.”

Her voice is hoarse and drawled from the fever. Din lies down beside her. He can't stop touching her – her hip, her flank, her face...

“Yes, you do,” he murmurs, returning the smirk with slightly less self-complacent expression. “I guess that's what made it so easy.”

She bends her knee and throws it over his hip to cuddle up closer.

“What is so easy?” she asks, caressing the stubble along his jaw.

He could lie. He could keep quiet like he always has.

He doesn't want to.

“To love you.”

His heart stops when Cara stiffens. It lasts less then a blink, but long enough to hurt; it ends as soon as Cara breaks into a bright grin, leaning her forehead against his lips, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Give a girl some warning,” she groans, “that's not something I hear every day.”

Din folds his arms around her, quite satisfied with her reaction – a very Cara reaction.

“That can be easily rectified.”

He lets it sink in, grants Cara a few minutes to process his confession and what it means for them. He doesn't expect her to say it back: she feels it, he can tell, and if she can't say it yet, he can wait.

After a while, when she's relaxed and breathing softly against him, he asks, “Do you ever feel like it's always been like this? Like there was never a before?”

Cara stirs, as if she was half asleep.

“Before what?”

“You and me and the kid.”

“I think I get what you mean,” she mumbles, groggily. “I'm not sure, my mind's dizzy.”

She adjusts her head more comfortably upon Din's chest. She's exhausted, and he's starting to feel the exertion of the day, too.

“I should let you sleep.”

“I don't wanna sleep,” she grumbles. “This feels too good.” She lazily kisses his neck, just to prove her point.

“You need to rest,” he objects, though it costs his all the little self control left in him to push her back on her pillow. “Sleep. I'm not going anywhere.”

Cara hooks are leg around him, takes his arm and drapes it across her waist, then chuckles, “I'd like to see you try.”

Din huffs out a find laugh. He's not a fool: he's not moving from here until she gives him a good reason to.

This is how they fall asleep: curled around each other, too warm under too many blankets, Cara sweating off her fever and Din holding her through it all night long.

This is how they wake up: curled around each other, too warm under too many blankets. Cara isn't trembling any longer.

Din reaches down for his helmet and slips it on. What he sees through his night visor makes his heart swell: there is a small green blanket over Cara's shoulders; the kid is lying on top of her back, his little arms and legs spread out like a starfish, drooling a little as he snores.

He laughs.

“What's so funny?” says Cara's sleepy voice.

“Nothing,” he says, stroking the baby's head, than hers. “We have a good thing, here,” he muses, taking the whole scene in, “a really good thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo much fluff, you guys are going to start sending me your dentist bills! I'm not even sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this, especially after such a long pause!
> 
> Comments are love and joy. Send love and joy? <3


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